


but i can't blame it on you

by MoLea90



Category: The Mentalist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoLea90/pseuds/MoLea90
Summary: He misses the plane.
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	but i can't blame it on you

_trying to ride out the midnight_   
_trying to fight through the daylight_

He misses the plane.

The adrenaline wears off and numbness takes it’s place. He doesn’t remember driving back to the hotel but he makes it somehow. Abbott had taken one look at him before wordlessly taking the keys from his hand and squeezing his shoulder. He’d spent the rest of the night drinking in his room before crawling into bed fully dressed sometime before dawn only to stare at the ceiling. He doesn’t know what to do.

The next day, he notices the way Cho looks at him but he says nothing and he’s grateful. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle anything that would make him think of what he’s lost, _what he let go_. He’s alone. And this feels even more permanent then when he’d been living an ocean away.

Time moves slowly.

He solves cases when he wants to, engaging in riskier and riskier behavior to solve them much to the frustration of everyone else on the team. A particularly bad case ends in a shootout, one he caused and he barely gets out in time, but he can’t seem to stop himself. More often then not he spends his time doing anything to avoid the bullpen. Her empty desk is there and he can’t take looking at it anymore. He doesn’t like the way alcohol dulls his mind but he doesn’t want to think of Lisbon and how she’s not here and how he almost got shot so he spends the rest of the case in his air stream with a bottle of vodka. He’s sure there’ll be repercussions but he doesn’t care to think about them.

Sure enough, the next day Cho was in Abbott’s office and he knows its because of him and he knows Lisbon would be disappointed with his actions, can almost hear her, but he brushes it aside.

He hears Cho return to his desk, his frustration evident even with his eyes closed, can sense the other man’s tension.

He knows his time is up. But he doesn’t want to talk about it. Doesn’t want to say out loud why he’s acting this way, how he failed, _how she left_. He can feel the panic spread through his body but he forces himself to breathe deeply, regulate his heartbeat. All he wants is to stay on his couch and pretend for a minute that Lisbon is checking out a lead and she’ll be back soon.

“Jane.”

He doesn’t respond. Maybe if he pretends to be asleep, Cho will let him be. He’s not Lisbon, isn’t quite as capable of making him do what he’s supposed to, making him put words to what he is feeling but he can still make him pause, still make him do things.

“I know you’re awake. We need to talk.” Chos voice is the same as it always is but he can hear the _anger_ in it. He makes a show of pretending to stretch after he sits up even though they both know he wasn’t sleeping. He turns to look at Cho who’s moved to sit in Lisbon’s chair but he says nothing. He carefully avoids looking at her desk but he can still see it out of the corner of his eye.

“Well if you’re not going to let me sleep, I’m going to make some tea.” He stands up and smooths his shirt but he doesn’t even manage to take one step before Cho stops him.

“These risky stunts you’ve been pulling. You need to stop.”

His hand twitches but he doesn’t sit back down. He makes sure he keeps his expression blank, “I don’t know what you’re talking—”

“You almost got shot,” Cho interrupts bluntly. “I promised Lisbon I’d watch out for you. You’re not making it easy.”

He doesn’t meet Chos eyes but he shrugs, “That’s not your job.”

Cho leans forward, resting elbows on knees and clasping his hands in front of him.

“Then whose job is it?” He tilts his head trying to meet his eyes, “Lisbon’s? She’s not here. She told me to keep an eye on you. Now, you can let me or you can leave.”

He finally sits, negligently crossing one leg over the other. “That’s harsh,” he turns to meet Chos gaze, keeps his voice steady and calm, “I thought we were friends, Cho.”

“We are friends, that’s why I’m telling you this.” He leans back to grab a slip of paper out of his pocket. “You miss Lisbon. I get it. But I don’t want to be the one to call her to tell her you got yourself into something you couldn’t get out of,” He hands him the paper, “This is her address in DC. Use it, or don’t, but figure it out.”

Cho moves back to his desk and starts clicking on the keyboard, completely ignoring him.

He slides the paper through his fingers and thinks how nice it would be to see her, touch her. How nice to be in the same space. He lets the feeling fill him up, let’s himself pretend she’s there. But he knows it's a lie because he can't forget, _won't let himself forget_.

The last time they spoke was in anger and he hates that, wants to smooth it over but he hasn’t wanted to do it over the phone. His overwhelming desire to see her is overriding his ability to be rational. He misses her desperately. He looks at the address and thinks how soon he could be in DC, how soon she could be right in front of him. But almost as quickly as the thought crosses his mind, he pushes it away. She has Pike and he knows he can't just show up and interrupt her life again. But he can’t quite make himself let go of the idea either so he folds up the piece of paper and puts it in his pocket.

It becomes something like a talisman. He brushes his hand against it one day and just like that, it becomes routine. It’s routine to move it from suit jacket to suit jacket, to gently pat his pocket to make sure it’s still there and pretend that he’s not doing it. He hates himself for it, hates that this scrap of paper is all he has left, is as close as he will get to her but he doesn’t stop.

He makes an effort to be more involved in the cases, makes an effort to be more considerate but it’s dull and boring and he wonders what else he’ll do with his life if he doesn’t do this.

Which is exactly what he’s doing a few weeks later when Chos computer alerts him to a video chat and it’s the Rigsbys. He wants to see them but he doesn’t want to leave his couch so he just listens. The call is brief but they chat about their lives and the little Rigsbys and he lets their voices wash over him. It makes him think of the CBI, of a bullpen bathed in golden sunlight, of cinnamon and a pair soft green eyes. Of closed case pizza, second chances and _family_. A jolt of longing hits him so hard it makes his eyes water.

And suddenly, it’s too much. When he thinks of the CBI, he thinks of home and Lisbon and he _aches_. He can’t swallow the lump in his throat, can't catch his breath and he has to _move_. He quickly stands and ignoring Cho's eyes, he leaves. He doesn’t even know where he’s going but he knows it can’t be here, needs fresh air, needs to breathe.

He ends up in his air stream, driving around aimlessly when he realizes he doesn’t want to do this anymore. He’s been without her for months and he’s done with it, tired of being away from her, tired of pretending he’s not in love with her.

He turns the air stream towards DC.

_do you still think about me too?_

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing recognizable. Thank you to everyone who has read and/or reviewed any of my stories.


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